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Accession  No.  ^f^T)  (?     .    Class  No.    °1^ 


1 


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in  2007  with  funding  from 

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http://www.archive.org/details/epigrameveningOOsanfrich 


Epigram  Evening 


November  $th,  1888 


SAN  FRANCISCO 
THE   BANCROFT   COMPANY,   PUBLISHERS 

1888 


WWo 


ORIGINAL 


An   Epigram — why!   what   is   that? — 
Something   that's   sharp   and   never   flat ; 
A   metrical,    well-rounded  bit 
Surcharged   with   fire   of  keenest   wit, 
And   which,   like   fly   in   amber   caught, 
Forever  lives   a   shining   thought. 

— Ed.   R.    Taylor 


EPIGRAMS 


ORIGINAL 


Were   Doctor  Lane   as   good   in   every   line 
As   in   the   carving   of  our   form   divine, 
His   epigrams,    we   must   agree,    would   cope 
With   best   of  those   of  Dryden   or   of  Pope, 
And   even   Bierce   would    be   compelled   to   yield 
To   witty   medico   the   conquered   field. 

— Ed.    R.    Taylor 


ORIGINAL 

Here's  John   Hittell,   so   strong   on   facts, 
He   nothing   cares   for  jingling  snacks, 
And    as   for   making   epigram, 

He   could  not  turn   one   worth   a clam. 

— Ed.   R.    Taylor 


EPIGRAMS 


ORIGINAL 


Here   Kirkland  comes,   in   'ologies   so   strong, 
She   knows   them   all   as   well   as   woman   can,   sir; 
While   in   philosophy   her   line's    so   long- 
It   stretches   quite   from   Zeno   up   to  Spencer; 
And   as    to   history,   her   ready   tongue, 
I   dare   be   sworn,    could   any   question   answer; 
And   when   it   comes  to   epigrammatizing, 
Why   she's   beyond   all   calculable    sizing. 

— Ed.  R.    Taylor 


ORIGINAL 


Here's    Greer,  whose   native   modesty's    so   shy, 
She   scarce   an    epigram   would   dare   to   try; 
But   should   she   thus   her   dormant   power   raise, 
She  doubtless  would   compel   our  highest   praise. 

Why,   what   is   this? — her  epigram,   by  jingo! 


It   beats    them  all   in   thought   as  well   as  lingo. 

—Ed.  R.    Taylor 


EPIGRAMS 


ORIGINAL 

On  Mrs.  L.  C.  Lane 's  request  for  a  contribution  to  the  "Epigram  Evening" 

An   Epigram's    a    rather   dangerous  thing 
For   novice   to   essay   to   fitly    sing; 
For   where   the   wittiest   have   succeeded   ill, 
What   hope   for   dulness   and   unpractised   skill  ? 
And   yet,   when   she   whom    we   delight   to   please 
Commauds   the   task,    the   pen   we   gladly   seize, 
For   if  she   smiles   upon   our    crippled   verse, 
All    careless   we   of  critic's    sneer   or   curse ; — 
She   who   has    sweetened   Sunday's   cup   of  tea 
With   sugared   wit   and   honeyed   pleasantry; 
Who   always   listens   well   and   talks   still   better 
When   epigrammatists   and   others   let   her ; 
Whether   the   theme  the   lightest   ever   spun, 
Or   gathered   from   her   favorite   Emerson ; 
Her  words   e'er   flowing   with   mellifluous   tone, 
Bearing  a   charm    and   wisdom   all   their   own ; 


EPIGRAMS 


Whose   facile   pen   the   heavy   German   turns 
To   airy   English   that   with   meaning   burns ; 
Who   rallies   us   to   try   our  leaden  wings 
As   now   she   does   on   unfamiliar   things ; 
Who   cheers   and  lightens   his   laborious  life 
Who   blesses    every   hour   he   calls   her   wife — 
A   woman   who,   had    I    but    Dryden's   wit, 
Should   have   the   brightest   epigram   e'er   writ. 

— Ed.  R.    Taylor 


Sunday  Evening,  Nov.  4th,  1888 


EPIGRAMS 


Selections  by  Ed.  R.   Taylor 

(jarriqK  09  Qoldsfiytl? 

"  Here   lies   Nolly    Goldsmith,  for   shortness  called   Noll, 
Who   wrote   like   an   angel   but   talk'd   like   poor   poll." 

ft 

Qo\ds[t\\ty  or)  QarrieK 

"  Here   lies    David   Garrick,  describe   me   who   can, 
An   abridgment   of  all   that   was   pleasant   in   man ; 
As   an   actor,    confest   without   rival   to   shine; 
As   a   wit,   if  not    first,   in  the  very   first   line ; 
Yet,   with   talents   like   these    and   an   excellent   heart, 
The   man   had   his  failings,   a  dupe  to  his  art. 
Like   an   ill-judging   beauty   his   colors   he   spread, 
And   beplaster'd   with   rouge   his   own   natural   red. 
On   the   stage   he   was   natural,  simple,  affecting; 
'Twas   only   that   when   he   was   off  he  was    acting. 
With   no  reason   on   earth   to   go   out   of  his   way, 
He   turned   and  he   varied   full   ten   times  a   day ; 


EPIGRAMS 


Though   secure   of  our   hearts,   yet   confoundedly   sick 

If  they   were   not   his   own   by   finessing   and   trick. 

He   cast   of!  his    friends,   as    a   huntsman   his   pack, 

For   he  knew   when   he  pleased   he   could   whistle   them   back. 

Of  praise   a   mere  glutton,   he   swallowed   what   came, 

And   the   puff  of  a  dunce,   he  mistook   it  for   fame, 

Till,  his   relish   grown   callous   almost   to   disease, 

Who   pepper'd   the   highest   was    surest   to   please. 

But   let  us  be   candid   and   speak   out   our   mind, 

If  dunces   applauded   he   paid  them   in   kind. 

Ye    Kenricks,    ye    Kelleys,    and   Woodfalls  so   grave, 

What   a  commerce   was   yours   while   you   got   and   you   gave  I 

How  did   Grub   Street  reecho   the   shouts  that   you   raised, 

While   he   was   be-Roscius'd   and   you   were   be-praised ! 

But   peace   to   his    spirit   wherever  it   flies, 

To   act   as  an   angel   and   mix  with   the   skies ; 

Those  poets   who   owe   their  best   fame   to  his  skill, 

Shall   still   be   his   flatterers,  go  where   he   will ; 

Old   Shakespeare   receive   him   with   praise  and  with   love,, 

And   Beaumonts   and   Beus   be   his   Kelleys   above." 


EPIGRAMS 


ORIGINAL 

I   cannot   make   an    epigram, 

I   cannot   pen   a   dithyramb ; 

I   ne'er   could   build   the   lofty   rhyme ; 

I    will  not   spend   my   precious    time 

(Which    should   be   given   to   washing   dishes,) 

In   angling   for   deep-water   fishes ; 

And   so   I   make   my   grand   salaam 

To   everybody's    Epigram ! 

— Cordelia   S.   Kirkland 

ORIGINAL 

In   olden   times,   when   rhymes   were   new, 

And   folks    had   less   to    cram, 
I   think   it   may   have    been   some   fun, 

To   pen   an   epigram. 
But   now,   when   every   scribbling   wight 

Can   rhyme   at   such   a   rate, 
I  own   I'd   rather,   much,    die   soon 

Than   on   this   theme   di-late. 

— Cordelia   S.    Kirkland 


EPIGRAMS  lO 


ORIGINAL 


EMBLEMS  OF  THE  EPIGRAM 

It's   like   a   needle — like   a   bee — 
And   now   some   graceless   wag 

Who   tastes   its    sweetness — feels   its    point — 
Calls   it   a   "jelly   bag." 

— Cordelia   S.    Kirkland 


EPIGRAMS  11 


Selections  by  Miss  C.  S.  Kirkland 

"  Men,    dying,    make   their   wills,    but   wives 
Escape   a   fate    so    sad; 
Why   should   they  make  what   all    their   lives 
The   gentle   dames   have  had." 


On  a  painting  of  Beau  Nash  placed  between  busts  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  and  Pope 

"This   picture    placed  the   busts    between 

Adds   to   our   thought  much   strength — 
Wisdom   and   Wit   are  little   seen, 
But   Folly   at   full   length." 


EPIGRAMS  12 


An   original   something,   fair   maid,   yon   wonld   win   me 

To   write,    but   how   shall   I   begin  ? 
I   fear   there   is   nothing   original   in   me 

Excepting  original   sin." 

— Coleridge,   in  an  Album 


"On   two   days   it   steads    not   to   rnn    from   thy   grave, 
The   appointed   and  the   unappointed   day ; 
For   thee,    on   the   first,    no   physician   can   save, 
Nor   thee,   on   the  second,    the   Universe   slay." 

— From   the  Persian 


"On   parent   knees    a   naked,    new-born    child, 

Weeping   thou   sat   while   all   around   thee   smiled; 
So   live   that,    sinking   in   thy   last   long   sleep, 

Calm   thou   mayst   smile   while   all   around   thee   weep." 

(N.  B.     The  way  we  all  felt  after  trying  to  write  an  epigram, — C.  S.  K.) 


EPIGRAMS  13 


UNCHOSEN 

Still    stings   one   bitter   moment 

When — in   that   mystic   land 
Where,    waiting   Fate's    dread   summons, 

The   unborn   spirits   stand — 
Genius  walked   grand   among   us 

Her   own   to   signify, 
And  while   I   thrilled   with   yearning 

Smiled    on   me — but  passed  by  I 


ORIGINAL 


A   puzzled   bard   seeks    rhyme   for   White, 
And    'twixt   two   spouses   cannot   choose   aright; 
For   Lovell  the   word   should   be   quiet, 
For   Laura   much   truer   were   riot. 

—John  S.  Hittell 


EPIGRAMS  14 


Selections  by  John  S.  Hittell 

"  Know   ye   wherefore  Jeremiah 

Spent   his   life   in   lamentation? 
'Twas    that   with   prophetic   eye   he 

Saw   himself  in    Pomp's   translation." 

—  Voltaire 
4ft 

fit' 

"  Weep   o'er   poor   Piron's   grave ; 

He   failed   in   every   ambition; 
He   did  not   even   get   to  be 
A   miserable   Academician." 

—  Voltaire 

# 

"  Lycns   was   asked  the   reason,   it   is   said, 
His   beard   was   so   much   whiter   than   his    head. 

1  The   reason,'    he   replied,   '  my    friend,   is   plain ; 
I've   worked   my  jaw   much   harder   than   my   brain.' " 

— Anonymous 


EPIGRAMS  15 


"  Here   comes   Mr.    Winter,    surveyor   of  taxes, 
I   advise   you   to   give   hiin   whatever   he   axes, 
And   that  without   any   nonsense   or   flummery, 
For  though  his  name's  Winter,  his  actions  are  summary." 

—  Theodore  Hook 


"  Sure  man   is   naught  but   grass   and   hay, 
Gone   to-morrow,    though   here   to-day. 
Woman's   a  vapor,   full   of  woes, 
She   cuts   a   caper  and   down   she   goes." 

— Anonymous 


EPIGRAMS  16 


ORIGINAL 

presidential  <?ampai<§i?  of  1888 

What   do   you   think,    say   the   maidens    fair, 
Of  politics   that   vex   the   air? 
Free   Trade !     Ah,   no ;    we've   made   election, 
And — to  a  man — go   for   Protection. 

—Mrs.  L.  L.    White 
•sw* 
ORIGINAL 

/tt  Boardir^^etyool 

Tell   me,   who   can,    good   children    dear, 

Who   it   is   we   most   do   fear, 

Who   hath   in   all   things   greatest   power, 

Before   whom   I   do   shrink   and    cower? 

Now   tell  me   quickly   who   this   is  ; 

With   one   acclaim   they   gave    the   name — 

"The   Misses!" 

— Mrs.  L.  L.    White 


EPIGRAMS  17 


ORIGINAL 


Epitaph  op  /T)rs. 


Here   lies   a   woman   whose   general    rule 
Was,    all   through   life,    to   play   the   fool ; 
Her   friends    about   ne'er  played  the   part, 
For   nature   there   transcended   art. 

—Mrs.  L.  L.    White 


ORIGINAL 

f\  Bachelor's  Fpitapl? 

He   shook   the    duties   of  father   and   man ; 
And   here   he   lies  at  the   end  of  his    span; 
No  tears,    no   fuss,    no   pitying   sighs, 
For  he  never  once   spoke   of  "  mother's   pies." 

— Mrs.  L.  L.    White 


EPIGRAMS  18 


ORIGINAL 

On  being  asked  what  the  possessor  of  such  a  name  as  Fiddle  should  do  with  himself. 
What   should   he   do   to   stay   the   gibes 
That   make   up   his   life's   remorse? 
Some   poison   take  as   he   imbibes  ? 
No — bowstring  himself — of  course. 

— Mrs.  L.  L.    White 


Aft 


ORIGINAL 


"  The   arena   too   small   is,"    said   Satan   to   Eve, 
"  It   were   better   to    sin   and   the   garden   to   leave ; 
The   Earth's   none   too   ample,   give   Adam   a   show, 
Nor   limit   the   chances — his   wild  oats    to   sow." 

—Mrs.  L.  L.    White 


EPIGRAMS  19 


ORIGINAL 

The   good   Lord   in   an   hour   of  ease 

Created   man,    Himself  to   please; 

The   man   lacked   grace; 

'  Twas   a   very   plain   case — 

So,    in    another   hour   of  ease, 

His   disappointment   to   appease, 

He  woman   made,    the  man   to   tease. 

—Mrs.  L.  L.    White 


ORIGINAL 

1.  S.  H. 

Of  books    very   good    and    none   very    bad 

He   writ   a   whole   score — 'twas    awfully   sad — 

And   the   devil   looked   on   in   high   glee  ; 

But   when   he   flew   back   his    own   home   to    see, 

And   found   nothing  wicked,   not   even  a   flea, 

He   reached   for  the   man   who   had   hit   hell    (Hittell)    a   lick 

And  had   knocked   it   high   as   a   good   mule   can   kick ; 

They  tusseled,    they   fought,  with   many  a   blow, 

And   where   are   they   now !    does    any   one  know  ? 

—Mrs.  L.  L.    White 


EPIGRAMS  SO 


Selections  by  Mrs.  L.  L.    White 

"  The    qualities    rare   of  a   bee   that   we  meet, 
In   an   epigram  never  should  fail ; 
The  body  should   always  be   little   and  sweet, 
And  a   sting   should  be  left   in   its   tail." 

— Anonymous 


"  Lessing,  in  the  preface  to  his  own  epigrams,  gives  an 
interesting  treatment  to  the  theory  (his  principal  doctrine  being 
the  same  as  that  of  several  of  his  less  eminent  predecessors) 
that  there  ought  to  be  two  parts  more  or  less  clearly  dis- 
tinguished, the  first  awakening  the  reader's  attention  in  the 
same  way  as  an  actual  monument  might  do,  and  the  second 
part   satisfying   his    curiosity    in  some   unexpected   manner. 


EPIGRAMS  21 


ORIGINAL 

51?e  Bachelor's  Boa5t 

I    am   a  jolly   bachelor, 

No  wife   me   doth   scold, 

No   children   tease ; 
I    am   a   free   man   bold, 
I   take   my   ease. 

— Lovell  White 


ORIGINAL 

<5l?e  Ba^elor'5  ^pitapl? 

The  jolly   bachelor,   the   free   man   bold- 
Beneath   this    stone   he   lies — 
Nobody   laughs,    nobody   cries ; 

Where   he   is   gone   and   how   he   fares 

Nobody   knows,   nobody  cares. 

— Lovell  White 


EPIGRAMS  22 


ORIGINAL 

To   see   the   bright   and  glorious   sun 
Maidens   mature  will    never  run 

Nor  waste   a   minute ; 
But   when  the   pale   moon   holds   its   sway, 
In-doors   they   will   not   stay — 

There's   a   man  in   it. 

— Lovell  White 


OF     I 

■  VERS1  I 


EPIGRAMS  23 


ORIGINAL 

J.  S.  H. 

Loud   laughed   the   devil,    full   of  glee, 

Saying,    "  this   fellow   is   toiling   for   me ; 

A  thousand   souls  to   hell   he'll   send, 

To   sizzle   and   fry,   to   bake   and   burn,    without   end." 

dfc 

"  And,"   quoth   the   devil,  "  the  laborer  is   worth  his   hire, 
I   will   give   him   a   seat   remote   from   the   fire, 
In   the   north-east   corner,    a   cool,    shady  place, 
With   an  umbrella,   and  a  fan,   and  a  shade  for  his   face." 

But   when  the   devil   came  home  and   found   of  all   his   spooks 
Many   had   known   Hittell,  but   none   had   read   his   books, 
He   waxed    wroth   and   swore   "by  the   Great   Horn   Spoon," 
That  the  fires  intended  for  the  thousand  should  burn  for  the  author  alone. 

— Lovell   'White 


EPIGRAMS  24 


{Read  Nov.  nth,  one  week  after  Epigram  Evening.') 

The   body   of    White,   whom   in   life   we   called   Lovell, 
Had   scarce   felt   the  need   of  the  sexton's   dread   shovel, 
When   his    soul    struck   a   bee-line   for   Heaven's   main   portal, 
Where,   on   guard,    sat   in   state   a   seraphic   immortal. 
Said   the   angel,    "  Base   Spirit,    how   dare   you   thus    come 
To   the   realms   of  the   blest   and   expect   to    find   home  ? " 

11  Oh !    mercy,    great   Seraph !   condemn  me   not  so," 
Cried   the   Soul,   with   a   wail   of  surprise   and   of  woe; 

"'Tis    true,   that   as   banker   I   usury   took; 

That   my   feet   have   at   times    strayed   away   from   the   Book; 

That   I   meekly   consented   the   lawyer   should  seize 

From   necessitous   borrowers   extortionate   fees ; 

That   I    framed   in    my   leisure   full   many   a  ditty 

Which   none   but   myself  ever   thought   to   be   witty; 

But   surely   such   venial   faults    should   not   force 

Upon   me   dread   Hell's   everlasting  remorse." 


EPIGRAMS  25 


The   angel    rejoined:    "  Were   your   total    of  sin 

But   the    faults   you  have   named,    we   might  well   let   you   in ; 

But   when   we   add   to  them    a   fault   by   far   greater, 

You   must   see    for   yourself  that  St.  Peter's   your   hater. 

Have   you  heard   of  the   name   of  the  honored   Hittell? 

Ah !  I   see   by  your   trembling  you   know   it   full   well — 

A   man   who   has   dug   the   rich   ores    of  his   mind — 

With   which   to    make   greater   the   stores    of  mankind — 

This   man   you   consigned   to   the   nethermost   Hell 

In   numbers   now   tolling   your   funeral    knell ; 

And  this   you   have   ventured,    forsooth,    for  the  reason, 

That   small   understandings   his   drift   could   not   seize   on. 

That   your   fault's   beyond   cure   e'en  archangels    admit, 

And   you   cannot   but   curse   both   yourself  and   your    wit ; 

For   St.  Peter   looks   carefully   out   for   his    own, 

And   Hittell  has  a   spirit   that   merits   a   throne." 

"But   a  word!    But   a   word!"    cried  the   Soul   in  despair, 

"  I   shot   not  to   hurt,   but   my   wit   to   declare ; 


EPIGRAMS  26 


Hittell  is   my   friend,    and   he   knows   very    well 

That  I  ne'er,   but   in   trope,    could   devote   him   to    Hell." 

"  No   more   will   I    hear;    had     your   epigram    hit 
Anywhere   near   the   bull's   eye    of  wit," 
The   angel   replied,    as   her  eyes   darted   fire, 

"You   might   here   be   admitted   to   fullest   desire; 
But   your  doom   has   been   spoken,    and   all   unforgiven 
Your   dulness   has   cost   you   the  raptures    of  Heaven." 

"Lost!  Lost!   shrieked  the   soul   as   in   darkness   it   fell 
To   the   pit  which   our   Dante  describeth   so  well. 

— Anna  P.  Greer. 


Sunday  Evening,  Nov.  u,  1888. 


EPIGRAMS  27 


Selections   by  Lovell    White 

"  Sly    Beelzebub   took   all   occasions 
To   try  Job's   constancy  and   patience. 
He   took   his   honor,    took   his   health, 
He   took   his   children,   took   his   wealth, 
His   servants,   oxen,   horses,   cows, 
But   cunning   Satan   did  not  take   his   spouse." 


"  But   Heaven,   who   brings   out   good    from  evil, 
And  loves   to   disappoint   the   devil, 
Had   predetermined   to   restore    • 
Two-fold   of  all    he   had   before ; 
His   servants,  oxen,   horses,    cows, 
Short-sighted   devil,    not   to   take   his   spouse." 

— Coleridge 


EPIGRAMS  28 


ORIGINAL  IMPROMPTU 

In   these   four   walls,    from   east   to   west, 
We   strive   with   might,    and   do   our   best 
Our   neighbor   quickly   to   outwit, 
Yet   hurt   his    feelings   not   a   bit. 

— Robt.   Tolmi  ■£. 


ORIGINAL  IMPROMPTU 
Upon  Mr.    White   receiving   his  prize 

If  from   this   empty   box   I    am    to   read   a   rhyme, 
I'll   ponder   o'er   it   now,    and   read   another   time. 

— Robt.    Tolmi  & 

gk 

tip 

The   highest   inspiration   may   to  the   most   ludicrous  readily   trip; 
Likewise   the   deepest  wisdom   to   the   most  appalling   stupidity   suddenly  slip. 

— Robt.    Tolmi  e 


EPIGRAMS  29 


When   you   find   yourself  in   doubt, 

Instead   of  worrying,  look   about, 

And   if  you   find   no   clear  way  out, 

Do   nothing. 

Robt.    To/mi  -f:. 


Selections  by  Robt.    Tolmi 

"  Art   and   learning   alone    direct   us   to   a   higher  life   and   hope." 

— Beethoven 


"Cobbler,    remain   at   your   last." 

— From   the   German 


"  Glucklich   ist   der  vergisst 
Was   nicht   mehr   zu   andern   ist." 


EPIGRAMS  30 


ORIGINAL 


Op  t!?e  D^ated  £ady  S^ooi  Dir<^tor$.  1888 

With   sweetest   words    and   honeyed   smiles 
The   ladies    thought   to   win   the  fight ; 
"  We   quite   eschew   the   spoils   of    war — 
We   simply   represent   the   Right" 
Alas !    the   cruel  day   of  fate 

Found   them   of  speech   and    smiles    bereft ; 
They   now   eschew   the   spoils   of  war 
Because   they   represent   the   Left. 

— Mary  M.    Greer 

w 

ORIGINAL 

Apropos  of  tl^  0?9tury  <?lub 

Should   some   good   member   condescend 
To   have   your   name   presented,    friend, 

As   "intellectual    candidate," 
Prithee,    decline   the   tempting  bait ; 
Say   you're   a   dunce — make   your   escape — 

Lest   you   be    strangled   with    red   tape. 

— Mary  M.    Greer 


EPIGRAMS  31 


Selections  by  Miss   Mary   M.    Greer 

"  What   is    an   epigram  ?    a   dwarfish  whole, 
Its   body   Brevity,   and  Wit   its  soul." 

w 

"That   man's    a   fool,    who   tries   by   art   and   skill 
To  stem   the   torrent   of  a   woman's    will, 
For  if  she   will,   she   will,   you   may   depend  on't 
And   if  she   won't,    she   won't,    and   there's    an   end   on't." 

w 

"That   woman's   wrong,   who   tries   by   force   and   skill 
To   stop   the   torrent   of  a   man's   self-will, 
For   if  he   says   he   won't,   he   will,    you   may   depend  on't, 
And   if  he   says   he   will,   he   won't,    and   there's    an   end   on't." 


"Be   thou   poorer,    be   thou   richer, 

Thou   canst   only   fill   thy   pitcher." 

— Emerson 


EPIGRAMS  32 


ORIGINAL 

The   sober  old   earth 

Has   her   freaks   of  mirth, 

She   tickles    the   wire 

Of  electric   fire, 

And,   even   when   bored, 

Her   enigmas    amuse ; 
With   her  for   example 

I   sought   for   a   sample 

Of  th'   epigrammatic 

However   rheumatic, 

With   feet   so   unskillful 

All   rules   to   confuse ; 
But   sought  it  in   vain, 

For  this   constant   refrain 

Ran   forward   and   back   till 

It  limped   like   a   dactyl, 

The   Attic  of   Taylor's, 

The   home  of  the  muse. 

— Mrs.  L.   C.  Lane 


EPIGRAMS  33 


Adapted  from  some  German   lines  on 

"\\)<{  (t\odqri)  /nar^u^rit^" 

(He)  "  This    petaled   daisy   thou  dost   tear, 

What   worth  its   yea  or   nay? 
Whate'er   the   witness   it   may   bear, 
My  love   shall   last   for   aye." 


(She)  "  Your  love   I    do   not   seek   to   read 

On   Nature's    sibyled   leaf, 
Nor   petals    count   like   rosary  bead 

That  prayer   may   bring   to   love   belief. 


<<  > 


Tis   not   that   fairy  lore   may   bring 

To  yours   its   seal    from    flowery   dale ; — 

But   will   my   love   outlast   the    Spring 

I'd   gladly   learn   from    leaf  as   frail." 

— Mrs.  L.   C.  Lane 


EPIGRAMS  34 


Selections  {continued,)  by  Mrs.  L.   C.  Lane 

"  Said   Celia   to   a   reverend   Dean, 

What   reason   can   be   given, 

Since   marriage   is   a   holy   thing, 

That   they   have   none   in   Heaven?" 


" They   have,"    says   he,  "no   women   there ; " 
She   quick   returns   the  jest ; 

"  Women   there   are,   but   I'm   afraid 
They   cannot   find   a  priest." 


EPIGRAMS  35 


Selections  by  Mrs.   L.   C.  Lane 

"  The   river   Rhine,    it   is   well   known, 
Doth  wash   the   city   of  Cologne ; 
But   tell   rue,    nymphs,   what   power   divine 
Shall   henceforth   wash   the   river   Rhine." 

— Coleridge 


$ 


11  Curved   the   line   of  beauty, 
Straight  the   line   of  duty ; 
Follow  this   and  thou   shalt   see 
The   other  ever  follow  thee." 


"  You   ask   me  why   I   have   no   verses  sent — 
— For   fear   you  should   return   the   compliment." 


EPIGRAMS  36 


"  Arthur,    they   say,   has   wit — for   what, 
For   writing? — No,    for   writing   not." 

— D.   Swift 


"  Of  all   wit's   uses   the   main   one 
Is   to   live  well  with  who   has   none." 

— Emerson 


tffc 


m 


"  He  who  has   a  thousand   friends   has   not  a  friend  to   spare, 
And   he   who   has   one   enemy   will   meet   him   everywhere." 

— Emerson 


EPIGRAMS  37 


A  German  lexicographer  says  that  Epigrams  may  be 
divided  into  two  classes,  the  one  addressed  to  the  intellect,  the 
other  to  the  feeling ;  the  former  being  didactic,  satiric,  or 
comic ;  the  latter,  lyric,  or  elegiac ;  he  says  there  are  those  who 
err  by  making  the  witty  epigram  superior  to  the  sentimental 
one ;  but  there  are  others  who  err  still  more  by  admitting  one 
only  of  these  into  their  theory,  and  even  Lessing  is  not  free 
from  this  fault.  In  his  theory,  Lessing  keeps  in  view  only  the 
witty  and  satiric;  but  he  is  in  the  right  in  demanding  for  the 
epigram,  an  interesting  idea,  thought,  or  fancy,  which  raises 
expectation   and  then   responds   to   it  by   some   unexpected  turn. 

Herder,  however,  has  shown  that  this  aiming  at  what  is 
witty  is  not  indispensable  to  the  epigram ;  that  wit  is  essential 
to   the   comic   and   satiric   epigram    only. 

Among  the  Romans,  wit  was  the  point  that  sharpened  the 
epigram,  and  although  the  Greek  epigram  is  rather  addressed 
to  the  sentiment,  yet  modern  Europe  took  the  former  for  her 
model,     until      Herder,     by     his     labors     in      Greek      Anthology 


EPIGRAMS  38 


successfully   combated  this  prejudiced   conception  of  the  epigram. 

For  the  Italians,  Spanish,  Portuguese  and  French,  the 
madrigal  took  the  place  that  the  sentimental  epigram  held  for 
the    Greeks. 

Littre,  in  denning  the  epigram,  gives  us  the  following 
quotation  from  Sainte-Beuve :  "  Formerly,  a  short  piece  of  verse 
upon  any  subject  whatever;  among  the  ancients,  a  short 
composition  of  not  more  than  eight  or  ten  lines,  usually  in 
hexameter  or  pentameter;  in  character  it  might  be  triumphal, 
votive,  or  descriptive ;  it  might  be  an  inscription  on  a  tomb ; 
it  might  be  a  pastoral  too  short  to  be  called  an  idyl ;  it  might 
be  a  declaration  of  love ;  or  an  amorous  plaint  not  elaborate 
enough  for  an  elegy ;  raillery,  too,  might  find  place  therein, 
but  it  was  always  subordinate,  while  jin  the  modern  epigram 
it  is   the  principal  feature." 

Another  says  of  the  epigram  that  it  is  a  short  piece  of 
verse  terminating  in  a  bon-mot  or  in  a  cutting  witticism  :  "  The 
point   of    an    epigram,    Alcandre,    is    with    thee    a    passion ;    but 


EPIGRAMS  39 


thou  desirest  a  long  epigram,  although,  like  a  long  inscription, 
it  is  censurable;  like  the  arrow  of  the  archer,  it  should  make 
its  breach  with  a  single  blow;  hast  thou  ever  seen  a  spear 
shot   from    a   bow  ?  " 

Littre  adds  that  the  name  may  be  applied  to  a  witty  rhyme 
of  two  lines  only,  or  to  any  piquant  remark  or  raillery  introduced 
into   conversation. 

According  to  Laharpe  the  name  epigram  is,  to-day,  applied 
to  all  verse  which  makes  a  near  approach  to  satire,  and  which 
has  in  view  the  same  aim,  viz :  criticism  or  raillery ;  also  to 
any  caustic  expression  introduced  into  common  conversation; 
and,  in  addition  thereto,  it  may  be  made  to  include  any 
thought  ingeniously  expressed,  or  even  the  simplest  idea  made 
the  subject   of  a   few   lines   of  poetry. 

The  word  itself  means  simply  an  inscription,  and  among 
the  Greeks,  from  whom  we  have  borrowed  it,  it  was  confined 
to  its  etymological  signification.  The  epigrams  collected  by 
Agathias,     Planude,     Constantine,     Hierocles,     and     others     who 


EPIGRAMS  40 


composed  the  Greek  Anthology,  are  only  inscriptions  for 
religions  offerings,  for  tombs,  statues  or  monuments ;  they  are 
usually  extremely  simple,  and  well  adapted  to  their  purpose ; 
the  greater  number  of  them  merely  state  some  fact  or  relate 
some  deed.  But  many  of  them  are  too  long,  and  few  of  them 
have  anything  in  common  with  what  we,  in  our  day,  recognize 
as    an   epigram. 

Voltaire,  so  skillful  in  gathering  from  every  object  its  bloom, 
has  translated  the  following  ones,  the  sole  examples  that  cor- 
respond  to   our  idea   of  an   epigram : 


llpoi)  a  ^tatu^  of  J/iob^ 

The   angry   gods   in   fatal   wrath 

This   woman   changed   to   stone; 

The   sculptor,  nobler   than   the   gods, 
The   stone   to   woman   turned. 


EPIGRAMS  41 


leapder  apd  J-tero 

Impelled   by   Love,    Leander   braves 

The   angry,    stormy   waves ; 
"  Let   me   but   reach   yon    shore,"  his   cry, 
"Then   drown,  and   show   how   lovers   die." 


Upoi)  tfy{  \f<(T)US  of  praxiteles 

'Tis   true,  just   as   you  see   me    here, 
So  Mars   beheld,    Adonis    fair, 
And   Vulcan,    too,    I   blushing   own — 
But    Praxiteles,  where   saw  he  me! 


Another  epigram,  drawing  a  comparison  between  Mercury 
and  Hercules,  the  favor  of  both  of  whom  may  be  propitiated 
by   gifts,    and   thus    protection   to   the   flocks   be  secured,  declares 


EPIGRAMS  42 


that,  while  Mercury  is  satisfied  with  a  little  honey  and  milk — 
Hercules  demands  two  lambs  a  day;  so,  if  the  flocks  are  to  be 
devoured,  what  matter  whether  it  be  by  wolves  or  by  Hercules. 
The  last  of  these  epigrams  is  the  prettiest  of  all ;  it 
represents  Lais  making  a  consecrated  offering  of  her  mirror  in 
the  Temple  of  Venus ;  it  is  by  Plato,  and  it  has  been  rendered 
into  English  by  several  writers;  of  the  following  translations, 
the   first  is   by    B.    L.    Swift,    the    second   by   Prior: 


I,  Lais,    once  of  Greece    the   pride, 
For   whom   so    many  suitors   sighed, 
Now   aged  grown,    at   Venus'    shrine 
The  mirror  of  my   youth   resign ; 
Since   what   I   a?n   I  will   not   see, 
And   what   I  was  I    cannot   be. 

Venus  take   my   votive    glass ; 
Since   I    am   not   what   I  was, 
What   from   this   day    I    shall  be. 
Venus,  let   me   never   see. 


EPIGRAMS  43 


Martial      has      sharpened    the    epigram    among    the    Latins 
much   more   than   was   ever   done    among    the     Greeks ;    seeking 
always   to   render   it   piquant,   he  is    far   from    always    succeeding. 
His   greatest   fault   of  all   is    that   he   has   been    too   prolific.     He 
has   a   dozen    books,    viz.:     about    twelve    hundred    epigrams,    of 
which   if  three-fourths   were   lost   there  would   be    little  cause  for 
regret.     He,     himself,    acknowledges    an     undue    profusion ;     but 
this   acknowledgment   in  no   measure   diminishes    the    importance 
he   attaches   to   these  bagatelles.     They  have   come    down    to    us 
in   the   most   exact   order,  just   as   he   arranged  them,  each  book, 
even,   with    its    own    dedication.       Satisfactory    as    this    may    be, 
it   does    not   recompense   us   for   the   loss   of   so    many    works   of 
Titus    Livius,     of    Tacitus    and   of  Sallust,    the   works    of  all    of 
whom   Time   has   so   much   less   respected   than   he   has   those   of 
Martial. 

The  first  book  is  devoted  entirely  to  the  praise  of 
Domitian.  Posterity  would  have  been  better  pleased  with  one  good 
epigram  against   this   tyrant.     Moreover   these   praises   constantly 


EPIGRAMS  44 


turn  around  the  same  centre;  the  subject  is  always  the 
spectacles  which  Domitian  gave  to  the  people,  and  Martial 
repeats  the  story  in  a  hundred  different  ways,  telling  how 
much  more  marvelous  they  were  than  any  that  had  ever  pre- 
ceded them. 

This  shows  what  importance  the  Romans  attached  to  this 
kind  of  magnificence;  and  at  the  same  time  shows  how  easy 
it   was   to   flatter  the   self-conceit   of  Domitian. 

In  the  choice  of  his  subjects  Martial  is  as  ribald  as 
Rousseau,  but  in  poetic  achievement  he  falls  infinitely  behind 
him.  Rousseau  has  so  excelled  in  his  licentious  epigrams  that 
we  could  pardon  him  for  them  if  what  is  contrary  to  good 
morals  might  ever  be  pardoned.  Martial,  when  he  becomes 
obscene,  does  not  rise  above  his  own  level,  and  his  poetry 
cannot  absolve  him ;  he  would  have  done  quite  as  well  had 
he   respected    decency. 

Martial  says  in  one  place  that  a  poet  ought  to  be  pure  in 
his  conduct,  but  that  it  is  not  necessary  that  his  verses   be  chaste ; 


EPIGRAMS  45 


to  this  one  might  reply  that  they  need  not  be  licentious. 
Happily,  there  is  a  small  number  of  his  epigrams  that  can  be 
recited  anywhere,  and  in  one  of  these  he  very  wittily  gives 
the  complaint  of  a  poor  peasant  who  has  recourse  to  law  to 
recover  damages  for  the  loss  of  three  kids,  and  "  for  nothing 
else,"  as  he  informs  us ;  the  peasant  reproaches  his  lawyer 
for  making,  on  this  occasion,  a  grand  speech  to  the  Court 
about  the  Punic  War,  about  Hannibal  and  a  dozen  other 
heroes,  about  the  Triumvirs  and  their  fatal  combats,  and  begs 
him   to  say   one  little   word    about   his    poor   kids. 

— P.  C.  L. 


EPIGRAMS  46 


Selected  by  Dr.  L.   C.  Lane 

"  Oh,    my  little   book,   if  thou   desirest   to   be   approved   by    Attic  ears, 
I   exhort   thee,    I   admonish   thee, 
That   thou   win  the   learned   Appollinaris ; 
No  one  is'  more   exact,   no  one   more   erudite, 
No   one  more   candid,    no   one   more   benign   than   he ; 
If  he  hold   thee   on   his   lips,    and   receive   thee   in   his   breast, 
Thou   needest   not   fear   the   scoffs   of  maligners, 
Nor   wilt   thou   become   a   wrapping   for   fish ; 
But   if  he   condemn   thee,    get   thee   quickly   to   the   salt-market, 

And   seek   the    venders'  stalls 

Or,    on   thy   reverse  side,  the  school-boy  may  labor  with  his  pot-hooks." 

—  Translated  from  Martial 


EPIGRAMS  47 


The   bow   is   unbent, 

Our   arrows   all   spent, 
And   we   lay   down   our   pens 

With    a   smiling   regret; 
If  the   white  we   have   hit 

In  our   efforts   at   wit, 
Each   one   of  us   kens 

'Twas   with   effort   and   fret; 
If  we've   quite    missed   the   mark, 

Or   hit   only   the   dark, 
We've   still   had   our   fun 

From   rhyme   and   from   pun;- 
But   hark  ! — there's    a   note 

On   the   air   still   afloat — 
My   ears    are   a-ringing, 

Soft   tones    are    a-singing, 
A   meaning   undreamt 

From   darts   that   are    spent : 


EPIGRAMS  -48 


Be   your  bow   ever   bent 

But   with   kindly   intent ; 
Let  the   cord  be  of  love, 

And   the   arrow   above 
All   unworthy   suspicion, 

Speed   well   on   its   mission, 
And  carry   its   point — 

To   Friendship's  fruition. 

—P.  C  L. 


— THE    END — 


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